


To Soothe an Angel's Nightmares

by Anonymous



Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:37:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secret Santa prompt, "Horus/Sanguinius, wing kink".</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Soothe an Angel's Nightmares

Horus arrived for his meeting with the Primarch of the IXth exactly on time, but Sanguinius was still preparing. He was at his desk, switching back and forth between data slate and cogitator while sipping at a mug of caf.

What was most striking was that the Angel’s wings were extended to either side of him, being groomed by four senior legion serfs. Sanguinius was in armour, so it wasn’t quite as odd as finding him working in the bathtub or on the toilet, but there was still something very uncomfortable about the scene.

  
“Am I interrupting?” Horus asked.

  
Sanguinius gestured for him to sit. “My apologies. I slept very badly last night and was late in rising. The fault is mine.”

  
Horus sat and accepted a cup of caf and a biscuit from a fifth serf. “Dreams, brother?”

  
Sanguinius nodded.

  
“Shall we have dinner tonight?” Horus asked. That had become their code phrase for sleeping together. Horus knew that Sanguinius’s dreams often tormented him, and that he would rest better if Horus were by his side.

  
At that moment, Sanguinius yelped sharply and his left wing jerked forward, throwing the two serfs off balance. “My apologies, sire!” the offending serf exclaimed.

  
“That feather needs a few more days,” Sanguinius told him.

  
“I shall mark it.” The serf produced a short length of red ribbon and tied it on his wing.

  
A few minutes later, Sanguinius dismissed the serfs, who swept up a pile of wing dust and dropped feathers before hastening away. Sanguinius furled his wings and Horus asked, “What did he mark?”

  
“A new flight feather. They’re painfully sensitive when they’re still coming through the skin.”

  
“So, does having that done hurt?”

  
“Not usually. It normally feels quite pleasant, like having my hair washed and brushed. And it’s called preening. It has to be done at least once a day or the feathers get out of alignment, old ones don’t fall out and my skin gets dry.”

  
Horus grinned. “Should I be jealous of your legion serfs, with their hands in your hair and feathers every day?”

  
“I don’t get jealous of your masseur,” Sanguinius pointed out. “Neither of us gets jealous of the serfs who take off our armour at the end of battle and help us bathe.”

  
“That’s true,” said Horus. “I am sorry I even jested about it.”

  
The Angel waved it off. “It’s not important. These planetary defenses we may have to breach at our next planet of compliance, now those are important. Here, my strategists have devised a few possible plans.”

 

The two primarchs spent the day discussing strategy, after which they had the Sanguinary Guard and the Mournival join them to talk about it further. Shiptime evening fell, and the various groups dispersed for dinner and recreation.

  
As planned, Horus and Sanguinius met for dinner in Sanguinius’s quarters. Both men wore informal robes with bare feet and settled onto the low couches that were typical Baalite furnishings. After their meal, Sanguinius dismissed the servants. Once they were alone, Horus sat down beside Sanguinius, who rested his head against Horus’s shoulder.

  
“What troubles you, love?” Horus whispered as he stroked Sanguinius’s long, dark hair.

  
“Dreams,” Sanguinius responded. “I don’t know why, or from where they come. They’re terrible, and bloody, and they have a dreadful feeling of truth to them.”

  
“Our inner mind speaks to our conscious selves in dreams,” Horus told him. “If you have something that disturbs the balance of your humours, nightmares can be the result.”

  
Sanguinius wrapped his arms around Horus’s torso. “What doesn’t disturb them these days? Sometimes my days back on Secundus seem downright restful. Fighting mutants and judging tribal disputes by day, and by night listening to music, or stories around the fire, and sometimes reading books by lamplight if there were any books to be had.”

  
“I think,” Horus said, “that you and I need to go on a holiday somewhere, just the two of us.”

  
Sanguinius sat up to look at him quizzically. “The chances of that happening are next to nil. Idyllic time away is not for us.”

  
“Well, surely there’s something that might help you relax.”

  
Sanguinius considered. “For now, just hold me.”

  
Horus was happy to comply. Sanguinius climbed onto Horus’s lap and stayed there, his forehead pressed against Horus’s cheek. Horus rested his hands on Sanguinius’s hips and made no demands. Sanguinius’s wings lifted and arched around them, cocooning them from the world. He nuzzled Horus’s neck and Horus turned his head to kiss him. Sanguinius reciprocated, but without the energy he usually displayed at such moments.

  
When they broke away, Horus said, “You know, I read today that preening is something a bird’s mate is supposed to do.”

  
“I’m not a bird.”

  
“But you have wings, and I’m your mate.”

  
“True.”

  
Sanguinius furled his wings and arched them slightly so that Horus could see the undersides. Horus began at the top of the wing on his left, stroking each feather slowly and gently from top to bottom. Sanguinius rested his head on Horus’s shoulder as he did so.

  
“You have no idea how good that feels,” Sanguinius told him.

  
“I’ve touched your wings before many times,” Horus said, “but never paying attention like this. I didn’t realize how crooked your feathers became in the course of a normal day. “

  
“And I haven’t flown at all today,” Sanguinius pointed out. “But yes, they get misaligned no matter what.”

  
Horus continued stroking down the feathers. “There’s a straw in here.”

  
“That’s a new feather. When it’s ready, the sheath will come off when you stroke it.”

  
Horus nodded. He finished the front of the wing and moved to the other. It was strange to him, because it didn’t seem he was doing much of anything beyond stroking Sanguinius’s feathers and realigning them, but Sanguinius’s eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted.

  
“Is this turning you on?” Horus asked.

  
“Oh, yes.” Sanguinius raised a hand to Horus’s cheek. “But it’s the difference between you getting a massage after a hard day in the practice cages and when I give you backrubs with that sandalwood oil you like.”

  
Horus nodded and they kissed again.

  
“Turn around,” Horus ordered once he’d finished with the wing to his right. Sanguinius did so. His casual robes were open at the back, and Horus knew how sensitive the skin between his wings was. He started preening the outer feathers at the tip of one wing, caressing Sanguinius’s back with his free hand. Sanguinius’s back arched, and his wings stretched out on either side of him.

  
“I can’t preen you if you do that,” Horus said, then softly blew on the tiny downy feathers that grew at the seam between wing and human skin. Sanguinius moaned, and Horus did the same on the other side before starting to kiss his way down Sanguinius’s back. Horus’s hand moved to between Sanguinius’s legs and he was pleased with the reaction he was getting. Just a few more moments of nuzzling and finally running his tongue along Sanguinius’s spine and Horus’s lover was ready to melt.

  
Horus scooped Sanguinius up in his arms, Sanguinius’s hollow bones making him light and seemingly fragile in Horus’s embrace. Horus carried him to the bedroom, placing him gently on the dark blue, starry quilt that Sanguinius placed on every bed they intended to share. Sanguinius reached up and took Horus’s face in his hands, pulling him down for another kiss. Horus responded by reaching for the hem of Sanguinius’s robe and drawing it upwards.

  
Hours later, Sanguinius was asleep in Horus’s arms, a contented smile on his face. Horus tenderly stroked Sanguinius’s hair, smiling right back. The Angel would sleep well tonight, Horus knew. Horus could protect him, care for him, shelter him.

  
If only Sanguinius would never leave Horus’s side, that would be for the best.


End file.
